Chapter Six
“You may not bring all these animals with you to my house!”
Angered at his words and tone, Arabella fisted her hands on her hips. “I am sorry, my lord, but I thought now that we are married it was also my house.”
Shortly after sunrise, Arabella had awakened with a sore throat and a stabbing pain behind her eyes. After drinking a posset Sophia brought her from Cook, she’d staggered out of bed, feeling as bad as she had the morning after she’d drunk too much champagne at Lord and Lady Devon’s wedding.
She’d had little enthusiasm for dressing in the gown she’d selected for her wedding. The material had scratched her skin, and all she’d wanted to do was crawl back into bed.
The wedding hadn’t gone much better when the minister had instructed Nash to place the ring on her finger. Panicking, she’d withdrawn her hand. He’d pulled it back. She’d yanked it back again. The tug-of-war continued until the ring had fallen to the floor and rolled under the lectern. Harsh whispers between the two of them had been interrupted by the minister’s well-placed cough.
Now it was mere hours since they’d said their vows. After much grumbling and complaining about the lack of time, Mother had put together a lovely wedding breakfast. A small group, consisting of long-time friends of Nash, Lord and Lady Dowding, who acted as witnesses, along with Mother, Lady Clarendon—now the Dowager Lady Clarendon—and Nash’s aged great aunt, Lady Hyatt, had joined the newly wedded couple for the repast. Nash’s sister, Eugenia, and her husband, Lord Devon, had not had time to attend, since they had recently retired to the country until Eugenia’s confinement ended.
Arabella had pushed the food around her plate until she’d finally asked a footman to take it away, since she thought she might toss up her accounts if she had to stare at it any longer. The few sips of champagne she’d had only made her feel worse.
When Nash had looked at her with concern and asked after her health, she’d shrugged it off, hoping she was correct that it was merely bridal nerves.
The guests had all departed among kisses and well wishes, and now Arabella was preparing to move her things—and her animals—to her new home.
“Most certainly, it is also your home, my dear. But animals do not belong in houses. We can perhaps build some sort of structure for the dogs—that is a dog, is it not?” He pointed to the poor straggler to whom she had not yet given enough attention. The bath certainly had helped, but his coat was in sore need of a trim. All this wedding business had taken her attention away from the things that really mattered.
“Yes. Of course, he is a dog.” She sniffed. “And he needs care.”
“What he needs, Wife, is a pistol to end his miserable existence.”
Arabella drew in a breath. What sort of monster had she married? Killing animals? Relegating them to cold, lonely places outside of the house?
“I will not shoot my friends. And these animals,” she swept her hand to encompass her current menagerie, “are my friends.”
Nash rubbed the back of his neck. “What of that pathetic bird?”
Arabella studied the poor thing lying in the small box in her hand. As if she knew what Arabella’s thoughts were, the bird fluttered her wing. “She is mostly recovered from her accident. I assume I can release her soon.”
“Today?”
She raised her chin. “Tomorrow. Maybe.”
This was not starting out well. What she hated more than anything was the gloating expression on her mother’s face. A perfect “I told you so” look that Arabella had been subjected to most of her childhood.
However, this was important to settle here and now. She had no intention of discontinuing her rescue of all things broken and lost. She’d spent her childhood surrounded by animals who’d needed food, shelter, and most of all, love. Some creatures she’d been able to move into loving homes, others had remained under her care. The less civilized ones tended to eat well, sleep well, then take off for parts unknown.
“What I don’t understand is why that cat hasn’t eaten the bird.” Nash eyed the ball of orange and white fluff licking her nether parts, totally oblivious to the humans’ chatter. Hopefully, he was far enough away from the animal that he would not begin a sneezing session.
“I have managed to keep them apart. Besides, Cleopatra is a lovely cat. She wouldn’t harm anyone.”
“Cleopatra is a dead queen, and that cat would gulp your bird for breakfast if you turned your eyes too quickly.” Nash stared at the ground while he walked in a circle, keeping his thoughts to himself. Arabella held her breath. This was one battle she did not intend to lose, but she grudgingly acknowledged the final word rested with her new husband.
Nash finally stopped before Arabella grew dizzy just watching him. “This is not a situation I am happy with. Not at all. Wild animals do not belong in houses. Furthermore, you are a countess, and countesses do not collect broken animals and treat them.” He held up his hand as she began to speak. “I do not wish to have a lengthy discussion about this right now, since we need to leave. However, these are my conditions. The bird is released tomorrow. The dogs can stay in the house—the area behind the kitchen, that is—until I have a kennel built. Then they will live outside. The cat,” he eyed Cleopatra with disdain, “will reside in the mews behind the house, but never, never, ever inside. I do not intend to live my life by sneezing my way through my days. Is that clear?”
“I am not pleased with these ultimatums, my lord, but I agree a lengthy discourse at present is not wise.” She would definitely fight harder for her animals, but right now she felt as though a very large, and very fast, carriage had run over her poor body.
“Good. Let us move along. The time grows late.” He turned to leave and then drew back, studying her, as if really seeing her for the first time all day. “Are you unwell?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I am afraid so. I awoke with a sore throat and headache, and it seems to be getting worse.” No doubt the last thing a man wanted to hear on his wedding night was his wife was ill.
He moved toward her and placed his hand on her forehead. “My God, you are burning up with fever, Arabella.”
She nodded, the slight movement causing her head to pound. “May we move along? I feel as though I need to lie down.”
“Tavers,” Nash shouted as he headed to the entrance hall to seek the butler. “Have my carriage brought around immediately. Lady Clarendon is ill, and I need to get her home as quickly as possible.”
Home. The word sounded as odd to Arabella’s ears as her new tittle did, since this had always been home. Now she belonged to Lord Clarendon, and consequently, home was his townhouse. Her head too muddled to sort it all out, she took a few steps, and called out, “Nash!” She stumbled and he was right beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
She looked up at him. He seemed very far away. “I don’t feel well at all.”
“I know.” He scooped her into his arms and strode down the corridor. “Is my carriage ready?”
“Yes, my lord. The driver was in the process of bringing it around when I sent word for him to hurry.”
Mother followed them, wringing her hands. “Will you be all right, Arabella?”
“She will be fine.” Nash swept through the door Tavers held open and descended the steps.
“My animals!” Arabella barely got the words out.
“They will remain here until you are better. Now I must get you home, into bed, and summon a doctor.”
Arabella rested her very heavy head against Nash’s chest. Her clothes scratched, every part of her body ached, and she still felt as though she might completely embarrass herself by bringing up what little bit of food she’d consumed at the breakfast.
Nash placed her into the carriage and followed her in. She wobbled a bit until he settled beside her then drew her onto his lap.
“This is not proper,” she mumbled into his neck.
“I am your husband. You look as though you will slide to the floor any minute.” He grabbed a blanket from underneath the padded seat and covered her with it. Tapping on the ceiling of the coach, he leaned back as the coach moved forward.
“I am very warm. Perhaps we can remove the blanket?”
“I don’t think so, Arabella. If you have a fever, you are better off covered.”
She hated being told what to do, and if she wasn’t feeling so miserable she would have fought him on the matter. But never had she felt so weak. A lone tear slid from her eye and traveled down her cheek. Within minutes several others joined it until she was having a hard time controlling her sobs.
Her wedding day. She’d only had three days to plan it, she was married to a man she hardly knew, their interaction so far had not been promising, she had never felt so sick in her life, her animals were left behind, and she was to be placed into a bed in a house she’d never even visited.
Nash tilted her chin up. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’ll get you home, and Sophia can help you into bed. I’ve already sent word for the doctor to attend you. It will be all right.”
When she continued to cry, mewling like a weak kitten, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Blow your nose.”
Lord, he was even ordering her to blow her nose…like she was a child. She stubbornly just wiped it instead, and closed her eyes.
…
Nash held his new wife, the heat from her fever-riddled body warming him enough that he wished he could strip off all his clothes. What a disaster. From the time the ridiculously named cat, Miss Aphrodite, had slammed into his chest, his life had gone from one mishap to another. And they all centered on the new Lady Clarendon—his countess.
A fine wedding night he would have. The chilling champagne and soft candlelight he’d ordered his valet to prepare would be enjoyed only by him. He sighed and looked out the window. Not that he was such a lecher he could not control himself until his wife recovered, but a man did expect to take pleasure in the idea of bedding his new wife. Especially this one, with her soft curves and lush mouth.
The short ride from the Melrose townhouse to his own didn’t give him much time to feel sorry for himself. As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, his butler Quinn hurried down the steps, still managing to maintain his dignity. “My lord, a Dr. Bennett has arrived and said he’d been summoned. I directed him to the library. Is Lady Clarendon ill?”
“Yes. Has her maid Sophia arrived?”
“About ten minutes ago. I sent her upstairs to my lady’s bedchamber.”
“Thank you.” Nash handed Arabella off to a footman and alighted from the carriage. He was annoyed with the feeling of possessiveness as the tall, handsome footman placed her back into his arms.
“Where am I?” Arabella’s voice was raspy, and her eyes glazed over.
Nash looked down at his bride. “We are home, my dear. Sophia has arrived and awaits you in your bedchamber. As soon as she has you settled, the doctor will attend you.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes, her head tucked against his chest.
He was becoming concerned at the amount of heat radiating from her body, right through her clothes and his. Sophia awaited them outside the bedchamber door, wringing her hands. “Oh my lord, is my lady so sick?”
“Yes, I am afraid she is. Please see her settled in bed and I will have the doctor attend her as soon as you are finished.” He placed her gently on the counterpane. He watched for a few minutes while Sophie removed her bonnet, gloves, and pelisse. Feeling as though he intruded, Nash left the room and headed to the library to speak with the doctor.
“My wife’s maid is preparing her, doctor. She will notify us when she is ready.”
“What seems to be the problem with Lady Clarendon?”
Nash ran his fingers through his hair. “We married just this morning, and—”
“Felicitations, my lord.” The doctor nodded.
“Thank you. It came to my attention at the wedding breakfast that my wife was not herself. When she assured me it was no more than bridal nerves, I dismissed it. Then when we were about to leave her mother’s home, she said she did not feel well. When I touched her forehead, she was quite hot. She then mentioned a sore throat and headache had been troubling her for most of the day.”
“Hmm. Well as soon as I am able, we’ll take a look at her. Was she complaining of a stomach upset?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. I also noticed she ate practically nothing at the breakfast.”
Nash moved to the sideboard and poured a drink. “Would you care for a drink while we wait?”
“No, thank you.” The doctor wandered the room, looking at the various titles on the bookshelves as Nash stared out the window, sipping on his drink. After about ten minutes of the two men lost in their own thoughts, Sophia entered the room.
“My lord, my lady is ready for the doctor now.”
“Thank you.” Nash headed to the door. “This way, doctor.”
Arabella looked so small in the huge bed. His stomach tightened at her paleness of face and the way she picked at the covers, seeming to be unclear as to where she was. “Arabella?” He sat alongside her and took her hand, his heart thumping at the heat that came from her flesh. “The doctor will examine you now. I will wait outside.”
She tugged on his hand. “No. I’m frightened. Stay here. Please.”
“Certainly.” He moved off the bed, and the doctor moved forward. The man was swift and efficient in his examination. Nash stayed back from the bed, watching Arabella thrash around, calling for her mother.
He was growing more alarmed by the minute. “Sophia, please send word to Lady Melrose to come immediately.”
“Yes, my lord. I will go myself.” The maid hurried from the room, glancing back at Arabella.
“Thank you.”
Nash walked in a circle as the doctor made noises that only increased his unease. Finally, the man stood and approached Nash. “My lord, I believe your wife suffers from the grippe. Or, influenza.”
“Influenza?” Nash reared back, focusing on the one word. He’d had two friends at Eton who had died from influenza, as well as his grandmother and several cousins.
“Yes. I am afraid that is what it is. I recommend leeches to rid the body of excess blood. That might help bring down her fever, as well.”
“No. No leeches.”
The doctor raised his chin. “That is the only accepted method of treatment for influenza.”
“Well, you won’t be treating this patient with leeches. They used that on my grandmother, and it did not help. In fact, my father was convinced it hastened her death, since she grew so weak after the procedures.”
The doctor picked up his bag. “I must tell you, my lord, there is also the chance your wife suffers from nerves, combined with a common cold. We have found young and nervous ladies tend to suffer more with colds than gentlemen do. After all, they are of a weaker nature, so that is understandable.”
Grateful that Arabella was too sick to hear the doctor’s comments, he took him by the elbow. “I will see you out, doctor. Besides leeches, what else do you recommend for colds?” He opened the bedchamber door and escorted him out.
“Keep the room warm. Drafts are very dangerous. You might want to have her maid fix a poultice for her chest if she begins to cough a great deal. Chamomile tea is good, if you can get her to drink it.” They descended the stairs. “You might use some cold cloths to bathe her body, if the fever rises.”
The front door opened and Lady Melrose rushed in. “How is Arabella?”
“This is Dr. Bennett. He has just examined her and declares she has a cold.” Nash glared at the doctor, warning him not to dispute him. The last thing he needed was a hysterical Lady Melrose on his hands. “Arabella was calling for you. Her bedchamber is on the second floor, the third door on the right.”
Lady Melrose swept past him and hurried up the stairs.
Nash visited the kitchen and instructed Cook to fix chamomile tea and a poultice.
“Oh my lord. The poor dear, only just married and now sick.” The woman shook her head. “I will also fix some broth. When my little ones had fevers, it seemed to soothe them.”
He headed back upstairs to find Lady Melrose sitting on a chair next to Arabella.
“She is so warm, my lord.” The woman held her daughter’s hand and pushed the hair back from her forehead.
“Cook is sending up chamomile tea that the doctor suggested, as well as some broth. I will have Sophia fetch cool water and some cloths if you want to bathe her.”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned back to Arabella.
Once Sophia arrived with the water and cloths, Nash excused himself, not wanting to watch Lady Melrose strip his new bride and wipe her down. He did not want to feel lust for the poor girl, but considering what he had planned for tonight, his mind continued to wander in that direction.
He ate his wedding night dinner alone in the dining room, since both Lady Melrose and his mother had requested trays. He certainly did not do justice to the wonderful meal Cook had prepared for the newlyweds. After eating, he wandered to the library for a brandy and time with the book he had started but certainly hadn’t planned on reading this night.
Shortly after ten o’clock he entered Arabella’s bedchamber. Lady Melrose sat slumped in the chair, her eyes closed, and her head nodding. Nash touched her gently on her shoulder. “My lady, I believe you should retire for the night.”
Her head came up quickly, she looked around, and then rubbed her eyes. “No, I cannot leave Arabella. She might need something in the night.”
“My wife is my responsibility now, madam. I intend to stay here to see her through the night.”
Lady Melrose’s brows rose. “I am not sure that is proper.”
He managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “We are married. You will find one of the maids outside the door. She will direct you to the room we have prepared for you and assist you in any way you need her.” He reached out and took her hand, escorting her to the door. “All will be well. You need your sleep.”
Glancing back at her daughter, Lady Melrose reluctantly left the room. Nash immediately undid his cravat and removed his jacket, waistcoat, and boots. He rolled up his sleeves and drew the chair closer to the bed. Resting his arm on his knees, he watched his new wife. Arabella was in a fitful sleep, tossing and turning. He felt her forehead, and she remained very hot.
He rang for Sophia and had her bring more water and clean cloths. He also shooed her to her bed, promising to fetch her during the night if he needed anything.
Once he turned the bedcovers down, he groaned at the sight of the night rail that displayed the brown nipples of Arabella’s generous breasts, as well as the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. Calling on all his resources as a gentleman, he slid the bottom of the gown up, keeping the area from the top of her legs to her neck covered, and slowly wiped her warm flesh with the cool cloth.
The chore finally done, he placed the bowl of water and cloths on the dresser. He blew out the candles and settled into the chair, planning on a long, uncomfortable wedding night.